Dublin: Getting Our Irish Up

Tuesday, August 2

For some reason, I always figured a flight to Ireland from Miami would be a cinch. But alas, the Air France flight we took to Dublin had a layover in Paris and, while the flight was a delight, it ended in a city I love with an airport I hate. Charles de Gaulle Airport is a sprawling mess that looks like Ellis Island with baguettes. Their security procedures are a clumsy concoction of scanners, conveyer belts, and rules they’re modifying even as I write. You want to keep a sharp eye on your stuff here; we’ve heard theft stories, though Judi and I have had no personal problem with that. Always have your passport out—anyone could suddenly ask to see it. And learn how to scan it; that happens a lot.

Making matters more difficult was the connecting Aer Lingus flight from Paris to Dublin. At De Gaulle, Aer Lingus operates like a food truck. Their agents arrive in the afternoon only when their flights start taking off. Until then, absolutely nobody at the airport knows when they’ll show up or where to check your bag. Since we couldn’t get into the Priority Pass lounge until our bag was checked, we spent the six-hour layover at a snack bar wondering if there really was an Aer Lingus.

Arriving in Dublin in the morning, things started to run more smoothly. The Republic of Ireland is still on the Euro, having dodged the monumental stupidity of Brexit. Most everyone here takes plastic; I’ve been here two days and haven’t seen a Euro yet.

Dublin is a worn but fairly clean city of brick row houses, low-rise businesses (no skyscrapers at all), and as many churches as pubs. (The drinks are better in the pubs.) This is one of the most Catholic countries in the world, but that doesn’t dampen their love of Guinness—the beer that stands up to a spoon. It’s summer now and the weather is partly cloudy, a bit humid, but generally mild with occasional light drizzle. Annual temps range from 50s to 70s F, so there are no extremes. You’ll want to have a waterproof windbreaker for light rains and wet breezes, plus sweaters so you can layer-up when it gets chilly. But leave your heavy winter coat and your bikini at home. And if you have a speedo, destroy it now.

Getting around Dublin is pretty easy. A lot is within a half-hour walk of our hotel—the Aloft Marriott—plus there are modern streets cars, new double-decker busses, and hop on/hop off busses that crisscross the city. They also have cabs and Uber, though Uber is controlled by the cab companies. Consequently, Uber is not really a better deal than a taxi. Being such a walkable city, our first full day was spent just wandering through the center of town, past St. Patrick’s Cathedral, and north to Trinity College—which is everyone’s idea of a classic Old World university.

Though we didn’t get to see it, The Book of Kells is housed here—a brilliantly illuminated medieval manuscript, over 1000 years old.

The cozy streets and narrow sidewalks are lined with small shops and big-name chain stores, restaurants, souvenir shops, and pubs pubs pubs. There’s a good cultural mix here. A lot of French, some English, and many Middle Easterners and South Asians. Not as many redheads as I expected, and no leprechauns either, though they don’t usually live in the city.

Food prices are quite reasonable, the portions are large, the service is prompt, and there’s far less tipping than in the U.S. For meals, pubs are as popular as restaurants, but the pubs stop serving food at 9:00 pm. We haven’t seen a line for tips on any restaurant bill, though I’m told they do exist. Bartenders don’t get tipped, and the waiters don’t depend on them the way they do in America. Also, there’s the VAT (value added tax) tacked on: about 9% for most things and about 24% for alcohol.

Judi and I don’t spend much time in hotel rooms, in part because nowadays they can be techno-traps of such geeky convenience you can’t do anything without an app. Or they seem designed by guys who didn’t have sleeping or showering in mind. Dublin’s Aloft Marriott Hotel is a pleasant exception. It’s a modern and clean establishment, right in the middle of the city. You can walk almost anywhere from here. The rooms are comfy and, when you step inside, you can actually figure out which switch controls which light without formal instruction.

Retreating to the hotel bar/restaurant at day’s end, we find that the drinks are ample (we’re in Ireland, after all) and the nosh-y bar food is yummy. However, the atmosphere music is an eclectic combo of strange, upbeat pop tunes that includes—I swear—a disco version of Stairway to Heaven. There is no shame.

We dined at a great little pub called Gallagher’s, which has the best crispy fries on Earth (we are connoisseurs), and a host of delicious Irish dishes brought to you by friendly, chatty servers. (The secret to the fries is mixing the potatoes with rice flower.) Gallagher’s is located in the Temple Bar district of the city. Named for the neighborhood’s top tourist bar (all the locals hate it), we swung by to discover the place was mobbed with college students listening to a guitar player singing Sweet Caroline—a song we’ve heard so often in so many E.U. countries, I believe it is the National Anthem of Europe. The rest of the Temple Bar district, which stretches along the river, is full of shops and pubs packed with everyone but Irish people.

 

Mercifully, nobody here has that idiotic Lucky Charms accent we hear in America. Nobody showers with Irish Spring. And nobody says, “Top ‘o the mornin’ to ya!” …just in case you’ve never been anywhere.

But, like so many American cities, Dublin does have those annoying crosswalks with a voice telling you, “Wait!… Wait!… Wait…!” It got me wondering what the crosswalks might sound like in other places around the world. [Hint: They’re best imagined in local accents]:

• Texas:        [flashing gun logo] Back off! Back off! Back off!
• A.:             Hang loose… hang loose… hang loose…
• Iowa:           Now wait like your mother told you!
• Germany:    We have ways of making you wait.
• China:         Suppress your desire to cross.
• Japan:         Do not dishonor your family by crossing.
• Israel:          Enough with the crossing already!
• Russia:        Do you have clearance from Moscow to cross?
• Tibet:          To cross is not to cross…
• Sweden:     Crossing is futile.
• New York:  Go ahead. Fuckin’ try it.